Mary van Balen

My week-long vacation began with a foggy drive through West Virginia and Virginia that necessitated an unplanned overnight in Lexington, VA. The stay was nice, though, and gave us a chance to slow down. One shouldn't have to hurry into a "vacation." Strictly speaking, I was the one headed for weeks vacation. My daughter would take off a few days to spend with me at the beach, but our friend was headed back to work after attending a wedding. No matter. I think we all enjoyed a good night's sleep and arriving in Williamsburg in daylight.

The first day I did a lot of sleeping and reading, surprised at how tired I was. Tuesday I took my daughter to work and wrote a couple of blogs at a local coffee shop before going to visit a friend. Wednesday began four amazing days: First seeing the Dalai Lama, next going to the beach, and finally, seeing the presidential motorcade and the president himself as he arrived at Kings Mill Resort.  Read More 

"Well, Hello!" Rita's voice came over my cell. I couldn't believe we had connected, expecting instead to leave a message.

"Happy Birthday!" I said.

"You're on top of things," she replied, no doubt surprised by the early hour of the call. Our forty-four years of friendship had made it clear that I was NOT a morning person. Still, rising early for the chance of spending a few minutes in conversation with my friend was an easy choice.

Rita and I met as freshman at the College of Saint Francis, in Joliet, IL. In fact, since her aunt was the dean of women at that time, Rit had the opportunity to look through letters written by applicants to choose her roommate. We still can't figure out why she chose me. I had written nothing. Nothing about myself. I imagine I just filled in what was required and sent the application on its way.

Looking back, Rita would say it was God. And I would agree. Not only has our friendship spanned over four decades, but through introductions to people who were part of my life, Rita found her life's work in serving the poor and mentally challenged in Appalachia. And me? I found a blessing.

We shared train rides to and from Chicago on the passenger line that provided her grandfather with his job as porter. Her father had a restaurant near the station. We took our guitars and had sing a longs in the dining car. We headed small protests to make changes in the all girls college dress code, generally caused a bit of uproar, and made two other friendships that have also endured.

Rita is not a great communicator, at least to those who are not part of her day, but despite few letters or calls, we connect immediately when we do talk. Today my intent was to celebrate the blessing she has been on the earth for sixty plus years. I did. She also supported me as I continue to deal with the emotional aftermath of divorce and the realities of trying to make ends meet.

In the end we marveled together over a small nature preserve near Peebles, OH, Davis Memorial Park, and a tiny creature that lives in the ice cold water of the cave there.  Read More 

My first day on Whidbey Island included praying Evensong with two Benedictine monks from nearby monastery of The Brothers of Saint John the Evangelist and a few members of the congregation. While waiting for the service to begin, I read the small prayer booklet's introduction: "Vespers is the ancient evening prayer of the Church in which we look back on the graces of the day just passed and are grateful. Thanksgiving is the theme of this Office."

I had much to be thankful for: Kathryn's friendship that called me to the Northwest from Ohio. Her husband's welcoming hospitality. Breathtaking views of Puget Sound and woods of towering Douglas firs, hemlocks, and cedars. Birds I have never seen or heard. And, not the least, blessedly cool, almost cold temperatures that had already provided respite from the scorching temperatures and humidity in the Midwest this summer.

"Give praise to the Father Almighty, to his Son, Jesus Christ the Lord, to the Spirit who dwells in our hearts, both now and forever, Amen."I made a slight bow as these words fell from my lips,remembering the Benedictine monks at Saint John's Abbey in Collegeville, with whom I have shared so many evenings of prayer, and whom I held in my heart that night.

Thanksgiving not only for the day past, but also for the promise of the days that stretched ahead. The end of one day, the beginning of a week. Prayers shared with friends. Thanks be. Amen.
 Read More 

The day had been long. Work. Haircut. Doctor's appointment. Late dinner with friends. I had met them at a restaurant I had not been to before and had difficulty finding a parking place downtown. When I returned to my car I found a ticket on the windshield: The spot was in a residential permit area. Sigh. I'm not used to thinking about residential permit areas. Mom's words came to me: "In a year you'll never know where that money went. Don't worry." Thanks, mom. Worrier extraorinaire over some things, she was right about this one.

I had had a wonderful evening, been treated to a marvelous dinner. So, why obsess about a small parking ticket? So, I didn't. On the drive home, instead of worrying about $40, I recalled parts of the conversations. One of the dinner party, Vicki, is a rabbi, and she shared the story of finding the torah for her new congregation ten years ago. An amazing story of a Polish rabbi in the 1940's giving the torah to a Catholic friend to keep until the deported Jews would return. Of course, they never did. The torah came to the US and using the internet, Vicki found a few members of that Polish congregation who had come to live in Brooklyn, not far from her congregation. This story goes on.

Another story: Among the nine of us sitting around the table, two had recently learned of the transsexuality of either a relative or friend. With my daughter, that made three. We shared stories. I promised to let them know when my book on the topic is published, and I wondered how many others in the restaurant that night might have similar stories. Harold had a good way of expressing the need we all have: To become more "wide minded." Indeed.

By the time I arrived home, I was thankful for the richness and fun of the evening. Then I opened the door.  Read More 

Funny how a piece of mail that arrived late could be just on time. Two weeks after the beginning of Lent, a one-page reflection on a program for the season appeared in my mailbox. Sent from the Benedictine Abbey in North Dakota, Assumption Abbey, it contained exactly what I needed to jump start my already waning efforts at keeping Lent. I had begun the season with a half-hearted intention to refrain from eating candy or desserts and a more sincere plan to regularly post Lenten blogs.

The candy and desserts fast was easily broken when I had dinner at a friend's home and was served something sweet. Benedictine hospitality would see the dilemma and come down on the side of reverencing the host. Of course, after breaking the fast once, I could find lots of reasons, perhaps not so Benedictine, to indulge. There was the potluck at work to raise money for a summer food program for children. I had to taste a couple of the goodies. And then a coworker bought a Godiva raspberry filled dark chocolate bar and offered me a couple of squares. You get the picture.

I have been somewhat more successful with blog posts if I compare my success to the number of Advent posts, though they were so few that the victory is hollow. So what was my problem? Two weeks in, Lent was a bust and to be honest, I didn't mind that much.

Then Brother Alban Petesch's reflection was dropped in my mailbox.  Read More